“Well . . .” Wilma twisted her wedding ring. “There wasn’t . . . I mean, you didn’t . . . well . . .”
“Cause a scene? Make a spectacle of myself? No, Mom. I went down this morning and helped for a while. Then I left like a normal person. At least, I think I looked normal.”
“This morning? But it’s afternoon. How many hours did you spend at the river?”
“I don’t know. A couple, maybe three—”
“Three? You made it through three hours?”
“Maybe it only seemed like three. I didn’t keep track of time. I just worked alongside Jeremy for a while and a couple of other guys I used to know real well and—” Streak’s hands started jittering again. He shivered, set his coffee mug on the floor beside the couch, and closed his eyes. “Mom, I appreciate you coming by and making coffee and all, but I don’t think I can keep talking. I have to try to sleep off this headache. Do you mind?”
“You’re cold. You need a blanket over you. Where’s that afghan I knitted for you?”
The one in neon colors she said looked cheerful, Streak thought. “Upstairs somewhere,” he said vaguely. “I don’t want a cover over me. I’m sweating. I just want to sleep.”
“Can’t you sleep with me here? I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”
“That’ll be the day,” Streak said dryly.
Wilma laughed softly. “My boy. You know me too well.” She bent and kissed him directly on the scar on his forehead, the place where a bullet had entered his skull and figuratively, if not literally, taken over his life thirty years ago. “You call me if you need me. Sleep tight.”
“And don’t let the bedbugs bite,” he murmured, closing his eyes.
Wilma tiptoed out of the room and shut the front door softly behind her. As soon as Streak heard her car start and back out of his driveway, he rose from the couch and went to his stereo. He sorted through some CDs, put one in the player, and lay down again. In a few moments, strains of Prokofiev’s Romeo and Juliet washed over him as he shivered uncontrollably and rolled himself into a tight, protective ball.
3
Christine tried to put the image of Patricia out of her mind as she drove downtown to look for Jeremy. To her surprise, that was easier for her to do than to wipe out the memory of Ames’s eyes. She’d always thought of him as a starkly handsome, intelligent, kind, but basically bland gentleman, like some cardboard figure out of a bad Victorian novel. This afternoon he’d shown her he was anything except bland. He was a man who’d masterfully kept his passions repressed until the last couple of days. Now that they had been unleashed, Christine didn’t know if he could ever again get them in check.
As she drove into town, Christine realized she didn’t have a clue about where to look for Jeremy. Prince Jewelry was located two streets over from the riverbank, so he wouldn’t be near the store. She parked the car and walked back to the area between stores and the river, which had become a beehive of activity with people piling sandbags against the rising water. So far, they were winning the battle. A few looked at her reproachfully, clearly thinking she should be helping. Normally she would have been, but not on this awful day.
Christine glanced up at the back of the old Duvoy Hotel, a jewel over a century ago but now a warren of tiny cheap offices and apartments. She saw a lot of people working, but no Jeremy. She strode on, coming to Hadden’s Department Store. On the huge brick back of the building someone had painted a scene of a cream-colored structure with an exterior winding staircase edged with a lacy wrought-iron railing from which hung lush red and purple flowers. Christine knew the owner of Hadden’s had let his seventeen-year-old grandson use the store as a giant canvas for what some people in town called graffiti. If it were graffiti, she thought, it was certainly beautiful and probably inspired by the grandson’s last vacation with the family in New Orleans.
Christine looked out over the river, which ran high, murky, and littered with debris. An aluminum lawn chair floated lazily by, and not far behind bobbed pieces of white wood, the remnants of a flimsy structure decimated by the force of rising, rushing water. After the flood, the riverbank would be the ugly site of filth, junk, and dead animals. And another dead girl wrapped in plastic? Christine shivered at the thought of what further horrible secrets the flood might reveal.
After half an hour of walking and inquiries, Christine finally located Jeremy working with Danny Torrance from the fitness center. They were behind the old Starlight Theater, which had been in business for almost seventy years, and they both looked exhausted.
“Jeremy, I’ve been looking for you for twenty minutes,” Christine said. “Hi, Danny.”
“How’re you feeling, Chris?” Danny asked.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” Jeremy burst out, alarmed. “Your face is all bruised. What happened?”
Danny looked abashed, realizing his gaffe. She’d told him she didn’t want Jeremy to know what had happened to her. It would frighten him.
“I fell down the basement steps.” Christine rarely lied to her brother. Lies made her uncomfortable. Besides, he usually found out the truth anyway. But she didn’t want him to know the truth just yet. “I tripped over Rhiannon.”
“You didn’t fall on her, did you?” Jeremy asked worriedly. “You’re big enough to squash her.”
“Thank you,” Christine said dryly. “Rhi’s fine. Not a mark on her.”
“Well, you sure don’t look so good,” Jeremy persisted.
The memory of finding Patricia lying on the floor with her staring eyes jumped to life in Christine’s mind. “I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, but I’m great. Really. And now I’d like to take you home. I may look bad, but you look worn-out.”
“Yeah, Jeremy, you look tired enough to fall right into the river,” Danny said. “Go with your sister.”
Jeremy clung stubbornly to a sandbag. “I’m not tired. But I am kind of hungry. Did you bring food, Christy?”
“No. I want you to come home. And, Danny, you look as tired as Jeremy. I’ll be glad to drop you anywhere you want.”
He shook his head. “Marti’s supposed to come by about now.” Marti, the pretty fitness trainer who possessed amazing strength for a small woman. Christine wondered why she wasn’t working alongside Danny. “You’re right, Chris—I’ve reached my limit. And so has Jeremy, if he’d only admit it.” He nudged her brother. “Haven’t you, guy?”
“No.” A note of petulance. Oh no, she thought. She didn’t feel like standing out here cajoling Jeremy for twenty minutes, “I’m not tired,” Jeremy announced loudly.
“You’re hungry,” Danny continued. “I heard your stomach growl three times. Really loud. Scared me half to death. I thought the flood had carried a lion all the way here from Africa.” Jeremy’s lips twitched. “I’ll bet if you go with Chris, she’ll take you to McDonald’s.”
“I sure will,” Christine said. “I could use some food myself. All I’ve had today are doughnuts.”
“Doughnuts?” Jeremy echoed. “Gosh, I love doughnuts.”
“You love everything. You should weigh three hundred pounds the way you eat.” Danny actually grinned. “Little brother, if you don’t come with me, I’ll still go to McDonald’s and you’ll miss out on all that good food. Just think of it. Big Macs, fries—”
Jeremy dropped his sandbag. “I gotta go, Danny. Will you be okay here without me?”
“Sure, buddy. I had fun working with you.”
“Me, too. With you. Bye.”
After they’d made their way back to the car, Christine said, “I’d really like to pick up the food and take it home to eat. Is that okay with you?”
“Back to your, I mean our, house?” She nodded. “What about Ames and Patricia? They’ll be waiting for me. Should I call them or should we get them some food, too, and eat it at their house?”
Oh yes, Ames would love to share a late lunch with me, Christine thought. And Patricia. She could now stop rigorously maintaining her slender figure. “They ca
lled,” she lied again for the second time in half an hour. “They’re going out tonight and want you to stay with me.”
Jeremy instantly brightened. “Good. It’s awful sad at that house. I try not to make any noise or get in anyone’s way, but I can’t always be quiet.”
“Well, you don’t have to be quiet at our house. And Rhiannon will be so happy to see you.”
“She can tell me all about you falling over her. Christy, could you drive faster? I’m starving!”
Fifteen minutes later it seemed that half the town couldn’t wait to have something from McDonald’s. They sat in a long line, inching their way toward the speaker, where Jeremy ordered two Big Macs, a double serving of fries, and a fudge sundae. Christine settled on a cheeseburger, and Jeremy insisted on an order of Chicken McNuggets for Rhiannon. While they again crept forward toward the pickup window, Jeremy sang an a cappella version of “Fly Away” because the Lenny Kravitz CD was in her car. The mechanics had said it would be finished by tomorrow, because there was no bodywork or painting to be done. Just a window would be replaced and the carpet reattached.
When they got home, Christine insisted Jeremy take a quick shower before they ate. “I’ll put your sundae in the freezer, and as soon as you’re done, we’ll get the food piping hot again in the microwave. Now scoot. You’re filthy.”
Jeremy did not have to be told twice. The faster he cleaned up, the quicker he could eat. Christine put his sundae in the freezer, her mind flashing again on the rat in the hydrator, and placed the bags of food on the counter, where Rhiannon had the good manners not to venture.
As Christine walked through the living room to flip on the television for Jeremy’s amusement, she saw the red light on her telephone answering machine blinking. She pressed the PLAY button and froze as she heard a deep, raspy mechanical voice say tonelessly, “Poor Patricia. See what happens when you find out too much?”
CHAPTER 14
1
Christine stood motionlessly by the answering machine for a few moments. She pressed the PLAY button again. The message—cold, mechanical, terrifying. The machine announced that the call had come at three-fifteen, after the body had been discovered and taken to the hospital, although it was obvious to all who’d been present that she was dead.
The shower water stopped. Jeremy would be back in a couple of minutes. Should she erase the message? No. Michael Winter should hear it. Maybe it could be traced. She turned off the answering machine so the blinking light wouldn’t draw Jeremy’s attention.
“Be right there!” Jeremy called as he pounded up the basement stairs to the kitchen. Christine knew Rhiannon would be zipping along beside him, trying to beat him to the top of the stairs. She went back into the kitchen and withdrew food from the foil wrappers, placing it on plates to slip into the microwave for a quick reheating. “Big Macs and fries piping hot in one minute,” she announced.
“I need ketchup for my fries.”
“Coming right up.” Christine made a great fuss over pouring ketchup, opening salt packets, sticking straws in soft drinks, tearing Chicken McNuggets into bits for Rhiannon. She knew she was stalling, delaying the time when she must tell Jeremy about Patricia’s death. Maybe she’d wait until after he’d eaten, not during his meal. Maybe even after a television show. She’d downplay it. Say it was definitely just a fall. Not mention anything about music coming from the loft or the strange placement of hay over Patricia’s body.
“You’re muttering to yourself,” Jeremy said suddenly as she dropped the last morsels of McNuggets into Rhiannon’s dish. “What’s wrong?”
“I was singing.”
“It didn’t sound like a song.”
“I don’t have a good voice like you do.”
“I’ve got an okay voice. Not good. Did I tell you I’m gonna work on learning the words to ‘Smooth’ by Santana?”
“Going Latino on me, are you?”
“What’s Latino?”
“In this case, a style of music. I love that song. Maybe we can salsa dance together.”
“What’s salsa dancing?”
“It’s a style of dancing. You remember—we watched the salsa dancing competition last year on TV. The girls all wore the sparkly dresses and looked like they were double-jointed.”
“I don’t know what double-jointed means, but they were cool. I’m not a very good dancer, though.”
“That makes two of us. But we can have fun trying.”
“I’ll step on your toes.”
“I’ll wear big steel-toed boots with my beautiful sparkly dress.”
This sent Jeremy into hysterics. Meanwhile, Rhiannon nosed Christine’s hand away from her dish, impatient with the human hilarity keeping her from the McNuggets. “I’m sorry to be such a slowpoke,” Christine said to the cat. “I know you’re about to drop dead from starvation.”
Christine went to the sink to wash the grease from her fingers and Jeremy said suddenly, “Christy, I don’t believe you really fell over top of Rhiannon and banged up your face. I can always tell when you’re fibbing to me.”
And he could. He’d been able to detect any falsehood she told him since he was a child. Maybe it was because he knew her so well or maybe he’d just developed a radar over the years for when people were trying to shield him from truths they thought he couldn’t handle.
Christine sat down at the table. “Jeremy, remember when I went to the gym?”
“Sure. It was only two days ago.”
“Well, someone tried to hurt me there. He hit me on the head with one of the weights.”
Jeremy’s lips parted, his face flushed, and one of his large hands immediately fisted. “Who? I’ll knock his block off! I’ll—”
“Jeremy, settle down. He covered my face first. I didn’t see who it was. But I’m all right and Deputy Winter is looking for the man. You trust Deputy Winter, don’t you?” Jeremy nodded slowly. “Then leave this to him.”
“Maybe I could help him.”
“I don’t think the police want civilians doing their work. They’re trained. And Deputy Winter could arrest him. You don’t have that authority.”
Jeremy looked down at his French fries drowning in ketchup. “Okay. I’ll let him handle it. But I don’t like for anyone to hurt you, Christy. Not even a little bit. I’d never let it happen if I was there, even if I don’t have authority to arrest someone.”
“I know. And I appreciate that, Jeremy. You’ve always been the best brother any girl could have.”
He looked up and gave her a weak smile. “How long is your face gonna look that way?”
“I don’t know. Maybe a couple of more days. Is it so bad?”
“Well, it’s weird. But not awful. You could put makeup on it. Patricia wears this skin-colored liquid stuff that comes in a bottle. Maybe she’d let you use a little.”
“I can buy some for myself,” Christine said vaguely. She took a small bite of her cheeseburger and chewed slowly, feeling as if she couldn’t swallow.
Jeremy sat silently staring at her; then finally he said, “I think something else is wrong. Something besides you getting hurt.”
Christine took a deep breath. “You amaze me, Jeremy. I can’t hide anything from you.”
“You’ve been my sister a long time,” he said solemnly. “I’m not as smart as you, but we’ve been best friends. And I’m not a little boy. I understand lots of things and I feel better when people tell me the truth.”
Christine looked at him, thinking how foolish she’d been for so long. She’d always known Jeremy was perceptive. Of course he sensed when trouble existed, but so often she and the family had tried to shield him from anything they thought might upset him. She’d never thought that perhaps keeping Jeremy in the dark caused him more anxiety than simply telling him the truth.
“Jeremy, something terrible happened today,” Christine began. “Patricia . . . died.”
“Died?” Jeremy repeated blankly. “But she wasn’t sick. Was she in some kind of cra
sh like Mom and Dad?”
“Not a crash but probably an accident. It looks like she fell from the loft in the barn.” Christine added details to make Jeremy feel better. “She broke her neck and died instantly, so she never felt a thing. No fear and no pain.”
“She was in the barn?”
Christine nodded. “She must have gone out to see Sultan and Fatima and—” She broke off. “Why are you looking at me like that? Why are you shaking your head?”
“You said she fell out of the loft. Patricia wouldn’t go up in the loft if she went to visit Sultan and Fatima.”
“She might have. Maybe she thought they needed more hay.”
Jeremy shook his head even more vehemently. “She doesn’t feed the horses. And I don’t think she walked across the muddy field just to visit the horses.”
“Then why would she have gone?”
Jeremy stared at her for a moment, his cheeks growing flushed. “Well, I know I’m not s’posed to tell this. I’m not even s’posed to know it. But the barn is where Patricia always went to meet her boyfriend.”
2
Sloane Caldwell entered his house, threw his trench coat over a chair, and headed straight for the small bar area set up in his living room. He poured a double scotch neat and dropped down with a groan on his brown leather couch.
He’d expected the day to be nerve-straining, but it had been downright grueling, even for a man with his mental stamina. At least he’d accrued seven billable hours, which should please Ames Prince, but they’d been seven hours of living hell.
Enoch Tate’s insurance company was balking at paying for medical treatment after Tate’s car accident four months ago. Today his deposition had been taken. Tate himself was a delight—eighty-five, half-deaf, dyspeptic, cantankerous, and suffering early stages of Alzheimer’s. The very sight of the old man caused Sloane to shudder when he stopped by Sloane’s office at least twice a week to see how his case was progressing and harangue about the miserable state of the modern world.
If She Should Die Page 23
